


Within Arm's Reach

by RedFlagsAndDiamonds



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, POV Multiple, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Teenage Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFlagsAndDiamonds/pseuds/RedFlagsAndDiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the StarWars kink meme -</p><p>Naive and unpopular with the local youth, Luke is taken advantage of by an older boy - who loses no time in disappearing when the younger omega becomes pregnant. Two seemingly innocuous droids and an old hermit pull Luke and his infant daughter into a civil war, but the boy's attention is drawn constantly to their swaggering alpha pilot with a Corellian accent and a heart-stopping smile. As if a man like Han Solo could have any interest in a deflowered omega with a baby in tow...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything for Star Wars in years, and this is my first time writing for the original trilogy. Here's hoping I do well! :)

Deak wasn’t the best looking guy in Tosche, but he was the only one to offer a T-16 joyride to Anchorhead’s resident pathetic little weakling.

Luke’s head was spinning too fast with elation to stop and consider a single warning, not from Biggs, not from his aunt, and when he found himself on his back in Deak’s sand-blasted fuel garage two days later, he smothered down all the doubts and worry in his gut – this was no fairy-tale ending, none of the romance and fluttering heartbeats he’d imagined as a kid after one-too many tabletop holos, but it meant that someone saw him as more than just something delicate and irritating.

He wouldn’t have to gaze enviously at Fixer and Camie as they necked in the corner, or try and impress Biggs in the hopes that the older boy might finally, finally…

Well, that didn’t matter. He had Deak now.

Even though whenever Deak said “I love you,” that first night, Luke hadn’t felt a thing.

It would take time – and after all, maybe this was what it was really like, and the holos lied; created a fantasy world of passion and devotion, where fragile Omegas overcame the world’s cruel odds, defied matches made by meddling families, and fell into the arms of dashing Alphas who were willing to live and die for them. Who thought them beautiful, no matter what their lives were before.

Deak still ignored him at Tosche’s, preferring to play on the shuffleboard or blast the half-grown womprats that Fixer caught and hung outside from the recharge port by their long tails, snarling or squeaking in distress before they burst with a single shot from a low-juice blaster, dehydrated guts spattering across the sand.

Luke hated the game, and blasters always made him slightly uncomfortable – as did the local kids who seemed to enjoy shooting them.

Once, during that beautiful week, he’d tried to pull Deak away from the window, where the others were all lined up with their outdated weaponry, the freshly caught rodents dangling outside a few yards away.

“They probably just wanted t’get out of the suns – we could take them down to Begger’s canyon, and –“

“They’re just pests, wormie –“ one of the others groaned, before Deak snickered loudly.

“Besides, then we’d have to hang you out there by your feet instead!”

Luke tried to laugh with the others, fighting to reassure himself that his boyfriend – so much bliss in one word! – had only been teasing him, but…

 

_But if he cared, why would he make you look like an idiot in front of the others?_

_And why would it hurt so much?_

 

He didn’t like the answers his mind offered up, so he buried them down, and just tried to enjoy the warmth of another body when Deak kissed him, grit-roughened hands running up his tunic and down his leggings, with a little thrill of danger, big fleshy arms holding him close as the knot stretched him open – after dark, in the speeder where no-one could see.

Somewhere in between, he convinced himself that the past few days had been something real, even if he had to think about it long and hard at times. After all, he’d never been in love. How could he know what it was meant to look like?

Whatever love was though, it couldn’t be the way Deak’s comm buzzed without an answer for each frantic night several weeks later. It wasn’t the waves of helpless despair Luke felt as he lay awake and fought off tears, tortured by memories only a few weeks old.

It wasn’t the agony that speared through his chest when, shaky and elated at seeing the dark-haired boy again after so long, Deak spared him and his swollen stomach no more than a passing glance, before he climbed into the Academy shuttle.

 

 

*

 

 

Meré gurgled happily as a thumb tickled the sole of her foot, a few bubbles of spit and half-digested milk leaking from the corner of her tiny, pouting mouth.

“She’ll want to eat again soon.” Beru murmured gently as she headed up the steps from the kitchen, steam rising from the tureen of mushrooms in her hands.

The nineteen year old boy seated at the table managed a respectful nod, before popping his lips again at the baby, his face breaking into a grin when her little legs stretched out and worked themselves into an almost mechanical rhythm, as if she thought that by mimicking the grown-ups, she could make herself bigger.

If only it were that easy, Luke quietly mourned – no one would choose to stay small and weak and defenseless forever.

Suddenly her eyes screwed shut with an abject expression, and a short, demanding squawk made her needs obvious. Luke had been on the verge of pulling his tunic open when his uncle suddenly entered, adjusting an empty bench seat with a rattle.

Sighing resignedly, Luke popped a finger into the baby’s mouth, her little tongue lapping at the pad as she sucked with an admirable determination.

“’Took a holo-call today from the Sunbers – they’re willing to put down six-hundred, provided that…” Owen trailed off with an evasive mutter, and Luke swallowed uncomfortably.

Provided that it were possible for him to carry more children. That was always the primary condition when offering a bride-price for an un-mated omega with an illegitimate offspring.

“I told them not to be concerned – you’re healthy, got a lot of good years ahead of you. ‘Should work out fine. Jake says it’ll be finalized by the next damp spell, gives us plenty of time before the harvest starts.”

The twisting, nauseous feeling in Luke’s belly managed to make itself worse as he glanced down into his lap, where the baby was still suckling hard at his fingertip, though her little brows were beginning to furrow in frustration. Less then two weeks then… He glanced to his aunt as she circled the table, setting the plates down, but she kept up a demure silence.

Realizing he had only himself to count on, he moistened his lips nervously and managed to force something intelligible past his dry throat.

“Actually, I – um, I was thinking…”

His uncle glanced up, but Luke forced himself to continue.

“…they’ve been looking for help at one of the aquaponic centers in Mos Taike – it’s only an hour an’ a quarter round-trip with the X-34 – and they said they’d take me on in about nine weeks. So, um… so if it works out, I’d like to keep her here with me.”

The ragged silence was mercifully brief.

“Nine weeks, hm?”

“Yeah, and the pay could –“

“After the harvest?”

Luke’s heart plummeted into his gut.

“Well, yeah, but –“

“We’ve been through this already – six hundred will cover repairs on at least two of those south ridge condensers, and we’ll need the extra in case the sandpeople tear up the main generator again –“

He was not going to lose control – not here, Luke ordered himself harshly as he bit at his tongue, determined not to give too many outward signs of crushing disappointment. Like a wobbling chin. He wasn’t _that_ much of an omega.

His uncle was still lecturing.

“ – She’ll have a good home with the Loneozners, and you’ll be free to start your own family. Jake Sunber’s a nice boy, has good parents, you’ll be taken care of.”

“I can take care of myself!” he snapped back, realizing just as the words came out of his mouth that he’d only proved Owen’s point.

“And while you’re working, who’s looking after your daughter? Your aunt and I already raised a child, we’re not –“

Finally, Meré realized she’d been duped, and let out a wail. The rest of the table managed to find something else to look at as Luke hefted her up onto his shoulder and left the table in a hurry, still fighting back an emotional outburst.

The air was cooling slightly from the pitiless heat of midday, and it somewhat soothed the burn in his eyes and throat as he slumped down against the pourstone entry dome. Meré’s keening stopped as soon as he slipped her under the layers of his tunic and let her get on with her meal, wincing slightly as she latched on.

He could hear his relatives talking down in the living pit, but tried not to pay too much attention – not when he still had his baby in his arms, for just a little longer.

The reddish glow burnished her soft skin, and as he cupped her head – dark hair growing in thick and fluffy – Luke had to hold back a long-dormant instinct to simply clutch her close to his body, and run. Past the Jundland Wastes, over the Dune Sea, far from anyone who wanted to take her away.

Omega intuition didn’t often allow for reality. Made the rest of the galaxy dismiss them so often as dreamers and romantics.

But he wasn’t _stupid_ , Luke reminded himself indignantly. The Flight Academy had been out of the question as soon as he’d gotten pregnant – but there were other ways… Ways that didn’t involve handing Meré off to Fixer’s parents, and tying himself down to a local wind farmer with plenty of credits to spare.

The baby turned her head away, mewling and smacking her plump lips, evidently bored with eating, and stretched herself out again as she flexed her tiny muscles.

“Why didn’t you say you just wanted a snack, huh?” he cooed softly, putting on a smile – for her sake – as he lifted her up carefully, nuzzling at her little face. “After all that fussing?”

She mewed again, and curled up sleepily against his collarbone. Something wounded and bruised inside him began to ache.

 

She stayed quiet long enough for him to carry her back to his room off the garage, depositing her as gently as possible in a halved dew-condenser jug lined with blankets. Crudely carved funnel flowers framed her name on the side.

Maybe she could take it with her, when…

A clattering of metal and a few startled cries pulled him out of his thoughts, as well as waking up the baby. Groaning, he hoisted her back onto his shoulder as she yowled in displeasure, loud enough to make his ears ring.

The garage still stank of buffering oil and carbon solvent after the aborted cleaning job that afternoon, when he’d had to abandon the newly acquired droids to give Meré a feeding. It had gone dark with the sunset, though the gleaming protocol unit was still easily visible as he desperately tried to right a toppled pile of condenser coils. Obviously, he’d been trying to hide behind them.

“What d’you think you’re -?!”

“It wasn’t my fault, sir!” the droid bleated. “Please don’t deactivate me! I told him not to go, but – but he’s faulty, malfunctioning! Kept babbling on about some _mission!_ ”

The blood drained from Luke’s face as he cursed under his breath, dashing for the entry stairs.

Removing the restraining bolt from the astro droid had been an idiotic decision in an idle moment, when he’d been frustrated by carbon build-up and wanted to finish the cleaning job quickly. Jawas never charged less than a month’s worth of credits for a functioning droid, and with the past two seasons having been low… His uncle would have him off the farm by midday tomorrow.

He felt sicker and sicker as the motion readout on his lensors remained negative. The protocol droid stood nearby, awkwardly holding the baby as she fussed, over-tired, and seemingly as near tears himself as a droid could be.

“Pardon me, sir, but – shouldn’t we go after him?”

“’S too dangerous with all the sandpeople around, we’ll have to wait ‘til morning.”

It would have been easier to blame things on the little R2 unit, but really, if he couldn’t be found, the droid had only expedited the inevitable.

Miserable, Luke quickly chose to abandon the cradle. Meré could sleep with him for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t like the boy to leave before breakfast, and Owen couldn’t help a twinge of concern along with his usual frustration.

A sudden suspicion crept into his mind, and it was with some relief that he found his grand-niece cooing in her padded seat on top of the kitchen counter, completely entranced by one of the old shifterballs they’d pulled out of storage. The modi-rubber was a little outdated and the colors didn’t change any longer, but it could still stretch and swell itself into different shapes as it hovered over the baby’s head – and at that age, Owen considered, it was probably more than enough entertainment.

After the dinner incident, he wouldn’t have been particularly shocked if Luke chose to run off with her – angry for the baby’s sake, and worried to hell for both of them, but not shocked. The boy might be immature and more reckless then a dug on Fight Day, but he loved with everything he had.

More was the pity, given where that had obviously gotten him.

Owen would have fulfilled the age-old cliché and laid siege to the Maksters’ repair garage with his blaster rifle, as soon as Luke gave up their oldest son as the responsible party – what a pleasant conversation _that_ had been – if the boy hadn’t already flown off to get himself killed in the name of the Emperor’s glory. Heesh Makster had been too damn proud of his offspring to accept any complaints, and even had the gall to consider himself the injured party – it wasn’t his fault, he’d claimed, if Lars couldn’t keep that loose-legged little omega indoors after dark.

Owen had bloodied his nose for that one, and the man’s left knee was probably still numb after a level point five blaster charge. Still, the point had been well made – Owen and Beru would be handling the problem on their own.

He glanced up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs to the kitchen pit, just as his wife came in with a container of spirillum cabbage, still frosted over from the cold storage.

“Have you seen Luke this morning?”

“He said he had some things to do before he started today, so he left early.” Beru replied quietly, peeling the vegetables with her hands before stirring them into the kettle on the stove.

“’He take those two new droids with him?”

“I think so.”

He sighed.

“Well, he’d better have those units repaired by mid-day, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

Owen had been on the verge of turning to leave – the GNK had been whining for attention as usual – but a soft call from his wife stopped him.

“Have you thought about it?”

He tightened his jaw – an unfortunate trait he’d picked up from his father, over time.

“There’s nothing to think about – we can’t feed two children on what this place pulls in, and I’m not going to choose between them.”

Beru shook her head silently, eyes downcast. Strange, that he’d found that endearing, even prepossessing when they’d been much younger, but in the immediate present it merely infuriated him.

“He’s not ready.” Owen muttered, glancing back at the baby who’d fallen silent, big dark eyes following the shifterball with great concentration.

Steam bubbled up from the thin stew as it dropped down through the strainer, and into the cooling dish.

“Were we?” Beru suddenly murmured back, with a rare half-smile.

 

Breakfast was a quiet affair, both parties only exchanging whatever mildly off-schedule plans had been laid for the day, while the baby took her milk from a bottle in her grand-aunt’s arms. She dropped off to sleep not long after, and allowed herself to be strapped back into the seat, Luke’s old pedia-comm attached to her ankle, programmed to alert the main areas of the house to any cries or demands.

 

The GNK was still limping somewhat when Owen plugged it back into the main power port, it’s mechanized distress obvious even to an organic.

Another piece of equipment, lost to time and overuse. Really, they ought to end their sale subscription with the Jawas, but what else could they afford? Nothing in Mos Eisley, and Mos Espa was too far to consider…

Waves of displaced sand suddenly cascaded over the edge of the living pit, enough to only have been disturbed by several massive land-speeders. Owen only managed to realize the fact when the tunnel up to the entry dome burst in an explosion of broken pourstone and flames, before skull-like figures in white armor surged through the gaping maw.

 

*

 

Luke had only met Ben Kenobi a few times; and the phrase “met” was overstating it. He had faint memories of the old man stopping by the farm when he’d been little – presumably to buy water. Luke had always been shy and ran to hide somewhere else in the house, and eventually Kenobi had ceased his arrivals altogether.

Among the Tosche crowd, he’d been something of a bizarre local legend, and everyone had their own explanations for his spooky behavior, whether tragic or downright terrifying. Some said he was an omega who’d murdered his own children – or hiding from an alpha after stealing their mate.

Well, the omega part of the stories had been correct, obviously – but there was no way a genetically submissive male could have fought in the Clone Wars. No way in all four Hells.

Kenobi chuckled at his incredulity.

“Yes… I was once a jedi knight, the same as your father.”

Luke’s head drooped with an old, familiar frustration and sense of mourning.

“I wish I’d known him.”

“He was the best star pilot in the galaxy,” Kenobi assured him, with a hint of pride. “- And a cunning warrior. The Hero with No Fear, that was what they called him.”

A quiet smile curled across Luke’s face.

“And he was a good friend… which reminds me – I have something here for you.“

The old man made his way over to a well-worn power bin in the corner, something one might use to store spare chargers. By the creak of the lid, it hadn’t been opened in some time.

“Your father wanted you to have this, when you were old enough – no matter the situation.”

Luke blushed slightly, but felt a stab of satisfaction.

“ – But your uncle wouldn’t allow it; he feared you might follow old Obi-Wan on some damn-fool idealistic crusade.”

The recently recovered astro droid beeped excitedly as Luke moved to the man’s side with growing curiosity – coupled with a strange, indescribable pull like billions of needle pricks just under his skin.

“W-what is it?”

Kenobi smiled a little.

“Your father’s lightsaber…”

It was fairly unremarkable, only a slender, silvered cylinder with a few knobs and adjusters, but the thin, hot air surrounding it seemed to quiver slightly in the short moment before Luke felt his fingers curl around the hilt. A soft, caressive sensation swept down his arm, and the weapon roared to life with a glow of shimmering blue.

 

Suddenly he felt uncomfortable – this was nothing he was fit for. There was a sense of long hoarded strength and power glimmering along that gleaming metal casing, and as pleasant as it was to imagine his sire as a giant among men, the image he’d idealized since his childhood, with this blade at his side when he lead an army into battle – this wasn’t anything meant for an omega. This was rage and bloodlust and everything his own breeding had taught him to fear – fight, rather than flight. Ice and liquid fire swam in front of his eyes, slender limbs and thick, twisting muscle, unspeakable delight, and rage, terrible rage…

_No!_ He thought quickly, desperately, and with a jolt the ‘saber vanished back into the housing.

He was breathing much too fast, and Kenobi laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him as he sank back onto the couch.

“It’s troubling for many of our strain at first – my own master required me to complete several meditation exercises before allowing me to begin training each day. The Force is a constant, but when communed with directly…”

Luke glanced up shakily, the feeling of nausea ebbing.

“The Force?”

The old man smiled indulgently.

“The Force is what gives the jedi their power – it’s an energy field, created by all living things; it surrounds us and penetrates us, it binds the galaxy together…”

The R2 unit quickly let out a serious of desperate sounding chirps and whirrs, pulling their attention away.

“Well now,” Kenobi muttered, standing stiffly. “Let’s see if we can’t figure out what you are, little friend...”

 


	3. Chapter 3

BR-329 was hardly a recent conscript, unlike the two still standing outside the little backwater homestead, still working over the previous owners inexpertly – at least, what was left of them.

Something for command to deal with, once they were back at Base.

The whole dug-out stank of dirt-side oil and aging skin, but underneath the objectionable stench was an alluring trace of youth and freshness. For the first time in over a decade, he felt a quiet stirring in places that stringent training and imperial military grade suppressants had kept quiescent and unresponsive.

The reaction wasn’t surprising. Omegas weren’t permitted anywhere near the imperial fleet, beyond the licensed pleasure-houses that most politicians and officers pretended didn’t exist. One hint was all it might take.

Several of the other troops could scent it as well, judging by the increasingly frantic way they tore at furniture and machinery, ripping open walls to try and locate panic rooms that a small form might hide in – it had been known to happen, protective parents went to great lengths to guard the virtue of their offspring…

Droids. They were searching for droids, the trooper reminded himself harshly, dragging his mind up from his loins and back into his skull where it belonged.

Once the technology had been found, they could waste time with more… frivolous interests.

Most of the little eked-out rooms were too tiny to hold more than two standard humans, let alone a few droids, but one of the imperial precepts was to be as destructive as possible. Made a more lasting impression on the locals if the legions lived up to their rumored reputation.

He didn’t have much time – the flame-throwers were already roaring out in the courtyard. Judging by the antiquated utensils, the small tunnel evidently served as a kitchen of some kind – not that it would be needed any longer, the trooper mused with some grim satisfaction. He’d blasted open several wall-bind storage units for the hell of it, when a sharp cry pulled his attention to the far corner of the room.

A human infant, evidently woken by the racket, was bawling wildly from the sand-colored cushion it lay fastened to, propped on one of the counters. A cursory, routine inspection proved it to be female, and therefore useless – another blast tore apart the flexi-plaster under the buffering cradle, sending the baby hurtling to the floor before it was buried under a pile of cascading rubble.  

The planet’s brutal gravitation and the coming fire would do the rest.

Holstering his weapon, the trooper jogged back through the main pit and towards the stairs; the flames had eaten away most of the inner walls, and it was only a matter of time before the weakened infrastructure gave under the weight of the sand.

For a moment he mourned the lingering cravings, but pushed them back under the surface; he could put in for some leisure time once they got back. He was maxed out on service runs for the time being, and no intelligent commander let a good soldier run himself into the dust.

And BR-329 was certainly a good soldier.

 

*

 

“If they traced the droids here, they might have found out who they sold them to, and that would lead them back – “

No. _No!_

Every drop of blood seemed to freeze in Luke’s veins, despite the desert heat, as he dashed back across the sand flat and hurled himself into the speeder. Kenobi was shouting something after him, but it was unintelligible over the roaring in his mind.

_No! No No No Please No - !_

Hundreds of images bubbled up in a frenzy – huge eyes gazing about in wonder, screams of protest as the birth waters were sponged from her body, her soft dew-flower scent, mingled with the fragrance of milk and the oils for her skin, the deceptively strong grip of minute fingers, dwarfed by just one of his own…

 

The speeder hadn’t fully shuddered to a halt, the repulsors steaming, before Luke jumped the side and ran for what remained of the entry dome – enormous blast marks scorching out the sides, leaving it blackened.

Smoke still billowed out from what was left of the stairs, and with a sudden rising horror, Luke felt himself go numb as the twisted shapes he had assumed were destroyed equipment made themselves apparent.

He’d never seen a corpse before.

 

Helplessly, he collapsed to his knees and vomited over the sand, his chest and shoulders heaving as the bile and wrenching sobs burned his throat raw.

Half-shaking with revulsion, fear, and a crippling dose of grief, he fumbled over the remains with his eyes and a broken pipe from one of the conditioning vats, half-searching for, half dreading the appearance of a third, smaller scorched body…

His limbs were shaking, before a faint, desperate wail suddenly drifted up from the blackened chasm that had once been the living pit.

The stairs were gone – he had to navigate through a precarious tangle of flexi-plaster and wiring to reach the ravaged main quarters, his heart pounding in his throat as the cries grew fainter, more tearful.

In an anguished panic, Luke forced himself to think. His aunt would never have left Meré behind, unless she’d been given no choice… Forcing away the image of his surrogate parents being dragged to their deaths, he tried to map his way back to the kitchen. It wasn’t as easy, now that everything surrounding him was all-but reduced to ash – no matter that he’d known each loft and dug-out since before he could crawl…

He had to crawl now, under the sagging supports that had held open the entry to the kitchen tunnel. The wailing had gradually worn down to soft whimpers, as Luke tore at the wreckage covering the floor, pulling up the remains of storage ports and the old stew kettle, before finally, finally uncovering a badly bruised, wriggling little shape – still trapped under her reclining seat.

Sobbing, he managed to rip the straps away and clutched her against his shoulder as she gripped him weakly – though she seemed alright. Bruised, terribly frightened, and wearing a crushed monitor around her left ankle, but whole.

 

*

 

The old man strangely hadn’t seemed surprised when Luke arrived back at the wrecked sandcrawler with Meré cradled inside his tunic, and a burst of sudden shame cut across the grief.

However, it seemed no explanations were necessary.

“There’s nothing you could have done Luke, had you been there. You’d have been killed too, the little one left to waste away… and the droids would now be in the hands of the Empire.”

Luke clutched his daughter against his chest, trembling, before managing to speak with more composure than he felt.

“… We’re coming with you to Alderaan. There’s nothing for us here now. I… I want to… ”

His voice broke, the words choked in his throat by his own fear.

Kenobi nodded, almost imperceptibly, and laid a hand on his shoulder before guiding him back towards the speeder.


	4. Chapter 4

“So’s it true what they say?” Jenny purred, snuggling into the booth beside him. “About Corellians?”

“What makes y’think I’d know?” he drawled, dark eyes settling appraisingly on her chest.

Her full lips twisted in a smirk, as sand-roughened fingers – they couldn’t keep anything on this dustball smooth for long – walked along the broken red line of embroidery that trailed up his outer trouser seam.

“Omegan intuition, let’s say.”

Her lines weren’t worth bantha-shit – and neither were the cheap scent-maskers that would trick nobody. Her hefty body-shape and the width of her face proved she had to be at least a beta, and Han Solo had met his fair share of slim, squirmy little lapfuls; the real deal didn’t last longer than a few seconds before he had them _mewling_ …

Whatever her tricks were though, he was pretty sure the blush coloring her cheeks was genuine, as he curled an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.

“So whadda they say, huh?” He paused, making a show of relishing her pseudo-scent. “Must be good, if it’s got you dripping.”

Jenny’s blush darkened – yeah, there was no way she could fake a rush like that – but she licked her lips indulgently and continued.

“I heard the planet was nothing but jungle once – humans survived by day and rutted like animals at night, hm? Do alphas still kill for their mates?”

No; but the thought had occurred to him… once or twice…

Her hand was already roaming, toying with the studs on his belt.

“They say Corellia breeds _men_ – not soft-knotted little boys.”

“…Flattery doesn’t getcha everywhere, sweetheart.” he murmured as her fingers traced over the belt buckle, inches from his crotch, before he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her lips.

She tasted like waterpipe smoke and the afterwash of Rodian-blood fizz. Tingling and foul, but passable for a B-girl…

* Send off the female, Young One – we have business. * came a low growl from a familiar seven feet of shaggy fur.

Han stifled a groan – all well and good for the Wookiee to throw away an easy rut, they only came into sexual heat once every twelve standard years anyway.

Ah well. There’d be other chances.

“Sweetheart…?” he muttered as a hint, before thinking the better of it and giving her behind a neat swat as she rose.

“And I’ll have another snifter.”

Satisfied now at the prospect of a sale, Jenny flashed him a thin-lipped smile and sauntered back to the crowded bar, just as Chewbacca settled in at the table along with his companions.

Honed instinct sized them up immediately.

Both men were omegas, one obviously sterile with age, which offered an explanation for the racket at the bar a few minutes earlier, but not for the baby that the younger of the two was making a pitiful attempt to hide inside his shirt.

Sithfire… if the old man was rotted juri fruit, this boy was pure, stirred Alderaani cream. Probably just as sweet on the tongue, too… even if someone had obviously taken a lick already.

A few growls from the Wookiee explained the details of the charter, and it was all Han could do not to choke on a laugh. Two omegas and a baby – it was an old story, or the punch line of some ancient intergalactic joke.

No matter. Work was work, and if he played his hand right, these two could provide more than enough to clean up that nasty little spice incident…

“Han Solo.” He introduced himself smugly, “I’m captain of the _Millennium Falcon_. Chewie here tells me you’re lookin’ for passage to the Alderaan system.”

“Yes indeed,” the old man replied, “If it’s a fast ship?”

“Fast ship? You’ve never heard of the _Millennium Falcon_?”

He wasn’t an idiot – these two obviously wouldn’t know a sub-light from a synthesizer. But it didn’t hurt to elaborate a little – it always paid off in the end, literally.

The old man shrugged. “Mm- should I have?”

“It’s the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs.”

A narrowed gaze and a faint, patronizing smile at the incorrect terminology made him rethink his initial analysis – the fossil evidently knew enough to make himself a risk.

The boy, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped staring, wide-eyed, ever since they’d sat down, and Han couldn’t help enjoying the stroke to his ego.

After all, he was only human.

“She’s fast enough for you, old man. What’s the cargo?”

“Only passengers. Myself, the boy, this little one… two droids… and no questions asked.”

He leaned forward with an impressive sabacc face, and Han smirked.

Oh yeah – this had domestic dispute written all over it.

“What is it, some kinda local trouble?”

“Let’s just say we’d like to avoid any… Imperial entanglements.”

Huh.

Han made a show of judgmental consideration.

“Well – that’s the real trick, isn’t it? And it’s gonna cost you somethin’ extra.”

The old man raised a grey brow, but Han knew better than to rise to the bait.

“Ten thousand – all in advance.”

Chewie huffed quietly in surprise beside him – the figure was ambitious even by their standards – but the boy’s indignant gasp was much more worth his attention.

“Ten _thousand_?! We could almost buy our own ship for that!”

The kitkin was turning a bit pink under the deep gold tan.

“But who’s gonna fly it, kid?” Han couldn’t resist goading him. “You?”

“You bet I could!” he shot back, with an adorable attempt at toughness, and for half a second Han honestly thought the kid was about to jump the table at him, baby or no baby. “I’m not such a bad pilot myself – we don’t hafta sit here, and -!”

His companion urged him back down with a few calming strokes, and Han was surprised to note the amused exasperation on the old man’s weather beaten face.

“We can pay you two-thousand now… plus fifteen, when we reach Alderaan.” he offered calmly, his matter-of-fact tone belied by the boy’s look of horrified shock.

“Seventeen, huh?”

The old man gave a confident nod, clearly a born fabricator, and Han covered up a disbelieving laugh with a smirk.

“… Okay, you guys got yourselves a ship…”

 

*

 

The speeder got them about two-thousand twenty-five; it wasn’t ideal, but after the XP-38 mass release, Luke knew it was all they could expect. Ben assured him it would suffice, but it hadn’t done anything to calm his nerves. Suns knew their pilot might very well change the terms on them at any time, and then where would they be?

Uncle Owen had always warned him not to speak to outworlders, and spacers particularly were to be avoided – Chadra-fans were swindling parasites, Devaronians were brutes who might kill messily for sheer amusement, and Corellians…

Corellians had simply tapped into Owen’s unshakeable dislike of any individual who lived fatly and free of obvious restraint, and the culture was well known across the galaxy for their savage origins. The stories fluctuated, but many seemed to agree that the crimson marks that some of them wore were meant to serve as a prominent tally of kills they had made in the past – a line of blood for each corpse.

Luke had never taken the stories as much more than fantasy, but one look at Captain Solo could alter years of skepticism. He might be a swaggering, chauvinistic, infuriating lowlife, but the blaster strapped to his thigh was clearly not for decoration.

And the thought of it… twin stripes of red each stretching down a long leg, advertising the wearer’s skill at survival, each with it’s own story about a man who couldn’t be defeated…

He slammed down on that train of thought quickly, and focused on keeping Meré shielded against his chest as they scuttled through the back alleys towards the main port.

“If the ship’s as fast as he’s boasting, we ought to do well…” Ben muttered as they turned the final corner, and Luke swallowed around his dry throat.

The Wookiee was waiting for them at the entrance to the docking bay, and as soon as they’d been led down the internal stairs, all of Luke’s growing initial excitement at seeing a freighter up close evaporated on the spot.

The chunk of Jawa scrap sitting on the sand might have been generously called a ship roughly five decades earlier, but now sported so many obvious re-wirings and patch-jobs, it looked like a single power surge would send it flying into pieces.

So this was that cocksure alpha’s miracle machine?

“What a piece of junk!” he exclaimed without thinking, his voice cracking in disappointment, just as the baby woke up on his shoulder with an unhappy bleat.

“She’ll make point five past light-speed.” a familiar voice gloated from somewhere under the ship’s belly, and Luke felt his breath catch.

The big Corellian obviously wasn’t used to desert climates; sweat glistened across his face, along shaggy, soft-looking dark hair, and down the line of his throat, leading straight to an open collar…

“ – might not look like much, but she’d got it where it counts kid; ‘made a lotta special modifications myself.”

He hadn’t quite finished his bragging, when Meré suddenly cooed and began stretching a chubby arm towards him, the drowsiness immediately gone from her dark eyes as they glowed with a delight that Luke hadn’t seen since… since they’d left home.

The Wookiee chuckled, and woofed something in his own language that Solo rolled his eyes at.

Luke felt his face burning bright red as he clambered up the gangway, fighting to ignore the insistent fluttering in his belly; his body demanding shelter, protection, safety after the insanity of the last twelve hours.

Suns, he couldn’t even remember when he’d been able to so much as sit down and rest, and suddenly, when confronted by an alpha in his prime, every instinct buried inside him was screaming orders to attract and mate.

There were times when Luke truly hated his own biology, being a slave to the whims of physical nature when his mind obviously knew better.

Han Solo could have any beta, omega, or species in the known galaxy – and a deflowered boy with a post-birth body, still swollen with maternal milk, was hardly a prime bedmate.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and be sure to comment below! :)


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